


Take it Easy

by theboywantscoffee



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Drugged Five, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Bonding, hurt five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27319270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboywantscoffee/pseuds/theboywantscoffee
Summary: Five is loathe to admit that this is not the first time he has been drugged.If he were able to really remember what went down, he’d be absolutely livid knowing that an error on his behalf left him incapacitated for a split second long enough to be captured and pierced with a needle.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 403





	Take it Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Five angst accompanied by his siblings loving him in good ol' Hargreeves fashion.

Five is loathe to admit that this is not the first time he has been drugged. 

If he were able to really remember what went down, he’d be absolutely livid knowing that an error on his behalf left him incapacitated just long enough to be captured and pierced with a needle. While this isn’t his first experience in this state, it certainly is the worst and most debilitating. Whichever pharmaceuticals are currently flowing through his veins must be a chemical cocktail calculated specifically for him, an unsurprising reality seeing as it’s the Commission’s doing. His head and limbs feel heavy as if filled with lead, his mouth and tongue thick and difficult to move, and his green eyes loll about desperately trying to sharpen his surroundings into focus. Whatever it is, it’s the perfect blend of barbiturates, opioids, and a dash of hallucinogens. It leaves him barely able to move his head, completely unable to spacial jump, and struggling to piece together a single coherent thought. 

Oh, and there’s ash falling from the burning ceiling of the academy’s infirmary.

His eyelids flutter and he watches bits of it float down into the abdominal wound Mom is suturing. She is utterly unphased by it and the flames around them, instead focused on her own methodical movements, her expression calm. The skin and surgical drape around his wound are stained crimson with blood and dotted by bits of ash. An intravenous catheter lies secured to the inner junction of Five’s elbow with lines connecting him to a bag of fluids. Agitated voices chatter around him, yet none of them are mentioning the status of their surroundings. His head tilts back and he blinks between the all too familiar faces. The walls behind them have fallen inwards, wood splintering and caught ablaze. Charred bodies lay in the rubble of infrastructure and furniture. The air is thick, hot, _putrid_. It smells of rotting flesh, kerosene, and asphalt caught aflame. This isn’t right.

His family can’t be in the apocalypse with him. 

_“Does he really have to be awake for this? I mean, are we sure he isn’t feeling anything?”_

_“Klaus, does it look like he has any idea what’s going on?”_

_“Well, maybe he just can’t speak for himself right now! Look at him!”_

_“Mom has already closed up like, four other wounds, and Five hasn’t made a damn peep. I think he’s good._

_“But you don’t know that!”_

_“Children, there is no need to be concerned about the status of Five’s discomfort. I have provided him with a local anesthetic block to numb the area and he has given no further indications of pain. It would be unsafe to administer any further analgesics without knowing what substances his captors used on him.”_

_“See? Mom knows what she’s doing, so back off.”_

_“Mommy’s boy.”_

Five hears but he doesn’t understand. His head shakes back and forth, trying to erase the image before him, trying to smother the flames, clear the air, brush away the ash creating a soft grey film overtop his skin. It doesn’t work. A feeling of panic begins clawing its way out of his chest, crushing his sternum, pressing and pushing on his lungs until he struggles to take a breath. His skin aches, set ablaze by the toxic air and flames flickering about them. It’s real. It _has_ to be real. He takes a deep, agonizing breath and it _burns_. His hands weakly try to crawl to his throat and his attempt to get air devolves into a fit of rattled coughing.

“No...no, no, _no…_ ” 

_“Five?”_

_“What’s he saying?”_

_“Is he choking?”_

_“Guys, he doesn’t look okay.”_

_“No shit Sherlock.”_

_“Shut up Diego, that’s not what I meant! Look at him, he isn’t even_ seeing _us.”_

_“If I am to achieve proper hemostasis, Five needs to lie still until I am able to place the remaining sutures.”_

_“Jesus Luther, hold him down already.”_

_“Five? Hey, Five?”_

Weights press into his upper arms, preventing him from trying to push up and away from where he lies. Five manages to get his coughing under control but each exhale following it is raspy and heavy with effort. His frantic gaze finds the weights and discovers that they’re hands, _big_ hands, and he follows them up to the face of his brother.

His brother died in the apocalypse.

“Five? Hey, can you hear me?” Luther leans close and his face is rife with concern. His grip remains firm, pushing him further back into his upright position in bed. “You’re back at the academy with us. You’re a bit beaten up, a bit drugged up, but Mom’s taking care of you. You’re going to be okay, but you gotta lie still.”

His words do not register. The wild look in Five’s eyes remains as they flit between his brother and the destruction behind him. “Luther, it’s back - it’s here…” Five takes a ragged breath, trying to pull the cotton out of his mind so he can articulate his thoughts but it's difficult, _so_ fucking difficult. He shakes his head again. “I don’t know how… I can’t, not _again_ , not with you all...”

A female voice cuts in. “What the hell is he talking about?”

It’s Allison. She’s perched behind Luther, her expression a mirror image of his. She doesn’t look the way she did when he found her all those years ago. There is no layer of dust and dirt over her skin, no life stolen from her wide, brown eyes. Across from her stands Klaus, his face twisted with concern, his bottom lip puckered inwards as he gnaws at it. Bright. Alert. Alive. 

But… they both died in the apocalypse?

“Five?” Another female voice, this time to his right and it belongs to Vanya. Beside her Mom continues her suturing, undisturbed by the conversation. His wound is now filled with ash.

“What’s here?” Vanya asks, her voice soft. Something cool finds his hand and squeezes his fingers. “What’s wrong? Tell us so we can help you.”

Five’s eyes flit behind her. Diego looms over her shoulder with his arms folded over his chest, his lips pulled into a deep frown. None of them are addressing how the room around them is set ablaze and crumbling apart. None of them are struggling to breath, gasping for air - not like he is. And oddly enough, none of the falling ash settles on them. 

It doesn’t make sense. 

“It’s here again… the apocalypse and - I don’t know _how_.” Five is rambling, unable to stop or filter the frantic thoughts that leave him desperate to blink away from it all and take them with him. “...but we have to go, we can travel back again and-.”

“Apocalypse?” Diego’s brow furrows and he drops his arms, throwing a hand out to catch his weight on the bed so he can lean towards Five. “Bro, there is no apocalypse. You’re back home and Mom is fixing your dumb, doped up ass. All that shit you’re seeing,” he says, tapping his head, “is up here.”

Five baulks. The outrageousness of his brother’s statement brings him a moment of clarity and briefly, the fear that threatened to close his throat is taken over by anger. “You’re _wrong_.” Logic has no place when his mind is overrun by synthesized pharmaceuticals. Even with his anger fueling him, his words are still slurred and weak. “It’s here, I - I can see it with my own damn eyes!” 

“See what?”

“The fire!” Five feels his chest heaving. “The corpses, the smoke… and… it’s - I _can’t_ do this again. Why aren’t you-.” The stench in the air is real. It’s so foul he can almost taste it and his stomach rolls as a wave of nausea hits him. He can’t do this again, he _can’t_. And not with his family. He is supposed to protect them, supposed to _save_ them from this, and he screwed up again somehow. His eyes begin to burn wetly and it feels as if someone is pushing a dull blade through his chest.

“ _No_ ,” he mumbles, the word aching in his throat as it comes out. He makes an attempt to push against Luther, his arms struggling feebly to pull from his grip. “No, it’s _real._ I see it. And I can’t… I can’t do it again… I _can’t_...”

“Hey, hey it’s okay Five.” It’s Klaus speaking up this time, his tone placating. He puts a hand on Diego’s shoulder and leans forward. “Look, listen, I know how you feel. I’ve done some crazy psychedelics before - I mean like, really insane. This one time I was totally convinced I was swimming in the chocolate river from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Remember that movie? And let me tell you, during the trip it was _ah-mazing_ , truly, and I actually believed one hundred percent I was covered in liquid chocolate. A bit weird imagining it all, you know,” he gestures vaguely, “down in the nethers, but it really was rather warm and pleasant at the time-.”

“ _Klaus!_ ”

“Okay, okay!” Klaus flashes his palms up in apology at his siblings’ synchronous scolding. “What I’m trying to say is, I was totally convinced it was real, but eventually I sobered up and instead of being waist deep in a chocolate river, I realized I’d been swimming around in and possibly even drinking some of a sewage run off for hours. And right now, you’re - well, you’re not in a chocolate river. You’re in… hell, I suppose...” His voice becomes small and he inhales deeply before continuing. “But when you sober up, you’ll realize that you were here the entire time with us. There’s no - fire or zombies, or whatever. Just you, us, and Mom sewing you up.”

Five lets out a slow breath. He stares at Klaus for a long moment, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of his words. The moisture behind his eyelids threatens to spill over. Can he be right? Can a hallucination even feel this real? He looks between his other siblings, challenging them to dismiss Klaus’s words.

They don’t. 

“He’s right Five,” Luther says with a nod. “You’re here and safe with us. You’re just… really, _really_ high right now.” 

“Super high,” Klaus agrees. “And I gotta say, I’m honestly a little jealous of whatever it is. If this happens again would you mind bringing me along for a-.”

“ _Klaus!_ ” 

“Jesus, _okay,_ I was just kidding.” 

There is a moment of silence as the siblings shoot Klaus a collective glare. Five watches, unable to follow the entire transaction. He… he really is high as a kite right now. Incredibly so. The very same drugs make it difficult to acknowledge this, but he is certain that if he weren't, he would be in excruciating pain by now and that physical evidence he can feel solidifies this fact. He knows this much is at least a truth and… perhaps there is a bit more credibility to his family’s words rather than what he thinks he sees. 

Perhaps it all really is just in his mind. 

The air becomes a touch bit easier to breathe. 

Allison clears her throat, focusing herself back on him. “And you’re going to have to rest and cool it with the Five errands, okay? No more going off and doing… well, doing whatever the hell it is you do in your spare time.”

“Getting abducted and tortured?” Diego offers. 

“Yeah, basically.”

“We were really worried about you,” Vanya admits. “You vanished for like, three days on us and didn’t tell anyone where you were going. You can’t do that again.”

Five blinks at her, unaware right away of the gradual creeping of guilt manifesting itself in his stomach. “Worried,” he echoes, stating it like a fact rather than a question. 

Diego snorts and pulls his weight off the bed. “Yeah, as much as it might shock you, we do actually, you know…” His head bobs side to side and he shuffles on his feet for a moment as if that will convey what he means without actually having to say it. “... love you or whatever, so stop doing stupid shit like trying to get yourself killed all time. How about you get a hobby or something instead of starting shit with everyone you got past beef with.” 

Diego’s words hit Five like Mack truck. 

_Love_.

“All finished,” Mom chimes in, completely unphased by the conversation at hand. She peels away the drape from Five’s abdomen and wipes the skin surrounding his injury with peroxide soaked gauze to clear away any dried blood. The thin layer of ash that had previously dusted his skin is gone. She moves about them with the corners of her red painted lips pulled upwards. “When Five is a bit more mentally sound, we can begin giving him something additional for pain control. Until then, he is to remain on intravenous fluids for hydration and antibiotics to prevent infection. Strict bed rest is necessary for further healing.” The room remains silent for a moment while she finishes her cleaning. When she’s done, she peels off her once sterile gloves with a snap and gives them all a warm smile. “I will go fix something for you all to eat. You must be starving.”

Mom tidies a few more things on her way out and with a hum buzzing on her lips, leaves Five with his siblings. When the infirmary door falls shut behind her, the formerly broken glass window of it is whole again. The dark mahogany wood of it is no longer charred. The wallpaper around its frame is pressed flush against the walls once more rather than peeled back from weeping adhesive. 

The room no longer feels hot. Warm, but not hot. The falling ash has lessened, reminding Five of the first gentle snow flurry of the season and less like a tumultuous blizzard. His chest no longer heaves as it did minutes before and the foul smell in the room barely lingers. The hand on his provides a gentle squeeze, grounding him just a little bit further, clearing the air just a tiny bit more.

“Five?” It’s Vanya speaking. “Maybe… maybe you should try to get some rest?”

His siblings all look at him but none of them speak, all of them suddenly looking too afraid to. It’s as if they have all shared some unspoken secret because they now all stare at him with the same mixture of emotions in their eyes - concern, uncertainty, and poorly veiled shock. 

Five’s cheeks feel wet and -.

Oh.

_Oh_. 

His cheeks feel _wet_. 

The realization douses the fires around him. It absolves the ash from the air and clears the smoke from his lungs. The crumbled walls and fallen bricks find their way back where they belong, flush out against the edges of the room. 

If he were sober, Five would have promptly blinked out from the room. Perhaps even committed murder.

But he isn’t and all he can do is lie there, mouth gaping like a fish.

Five is no stranger to love. He knows what it feels like, what it looks like. He knows that it was the love for his family that made the devastation of time traveling too far into the future almost enough to give it all up rather than keep surviving. He knows that it was the love from Delores that brought clarity and sanity back to him, that helped control his inner, darker demons and gave him reason to keep going. It was love that helped him persevere through those days at the Commission when he was assigned innocent children and, at times, newborns as his targets, even when Delores was no longer there to help hold him together and work through the guilt and horror. Love that reminded him that if he could just hold on, just get through all this shit, just _figure it out_ , he could be reunited with his family. He would be able to sneak sips of Dad’s cognac from the bar with Klaus again. Read books about astronomy on the couch beside Luther. Practice throwing knives with Diego. Listen in on one of Vanya’s violin practice sessions. Swipe sweets from the kitchen with Allison when Mom’s back was turned. Build pillow forts and read comics with Ben.

Five is well versed on the topic of love. He loves relentlessly and ruthlessly, allowing it to consume and control every fiber of his being. It is in the name of love that Five survived forty five years in a wasteland of solitude and destruction, narrowly avoiding death more times than he can ever remember. Love that kept him from giving up completely when starvation or illness left Death patiently waiting outside his camp. It’s love that allowed him to justify the horrible, monstrous things during his employment at the Commission. Love that allowed him to try one more risky hail Mary in the 1960's just to try to save his family one more time.

It’s not that Five doesn’t know love. 

It’s that Five isn’t used to being _told_ he is loved.

He knows foolishly that he doesn’t need to hear it to know it’s true. He sees it daily in the little things they do, like how when Luther wakes up before Five he prepares enough coffee for them both in the French press as opposed to the pot, knowing Five prefers it this way. Or the way Allison invites him out to the movies every time she visits (while the others babysit Claire) and makes a point to smuggle a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich in her ridiculously large bag for him. Vanya holds private recitals for him when he visits her, Diego likes to challenge him to games of billiards and darts, and Klaus, well, Klaus will follow him anywhere if Five is ready to deal with his company for the day. 

Five knows his family loves him. It’s just he can’t recall the last time this sentiment was ever put into words. And while it’s definitely the drugs making him more susceptible to his weaker emotions right now, the revelation still makes it nearly impossible to keep his throat from closing up.

It’s difficult to tell how much time passes before he speaks again. The cotton in Five’s mind still makes everything slow down and even seconds feel unbearably long. He suddenly feels exhausted. With the washing away of his frantic state, lethargy hits and the sedative effects of the drugs seem to kick in completely. He releases a trembling breath he wasn’t unaware he was holding and lets go of the tension from his back, letting himself relax into the pillows behind him. 

“Sleep sounds… nice,” he mumbles, using his free hand scrub wearily at his eyes. 

Vanya nods and offers a small smile. “Okay.” 

His siblings glance between one another. They’re all wise enough not to make any comments about what they just witnessed in front of Five, though they’ll certainly be discussing it once they’re alone and away from him. Wordlessly they all begin to shuffle on their feet and loosen the tight circle they’ve created around the bed. Five is distracted by his own exhaustion and it isn’t until Vanya’s hand pulls away from his own that he is brought back to their departure.

His hand reaches out without thought and catches the closest thing to him - the sleeve of Luther’s shirt. Luther is so big he almost doesn’t notice it, not until he goes to step away and his arm is tugged back by Five’s surprisingly strong grip on him. He spins about with a surprised look on his face and the others turn to see what has halted him.

“Five?”

When Five wakes up tomorrow, he’ll be mortified to remember this. He’ll feign ignorance or blame it on the fact that he was too fucked up to be aware of anything he did or said, relinquishing all accountability of his actions. Even when his siblings don’t bring it up, he’ll still become frazzled and irritable when the memory comes back and inevitably he’ll take it out on them. They’ll scoff and sigh, reluctantly agreeing that it really is best he is back to his normal crotchety self because at least it means he is feeling better and recovering. 

But for now, well…

“... stay?”

For now his family will remain gathered around him until he falls asleep. They’ll remain quiet (save for a few arguing whispers here and there) and when Mom later cracks the door open to call them down for dinner, she’ll pause at the site, smile to herself, and turn away to go make plates for them all to have later. When the night becomes long or hunger takes over, they’ll take turns remaining perched near the bedside ready just in case a dream turns into a nightmare and it becomes all too real once more. And when morning comes, Five will awaken feeling like he is experiencing the world’s worst hangover accompanied by a migraine on steroids, and searing pain blossoming across his abdomen.

But he’ll also awaken to five figures strewn about the room asleep, all waiting to make sure he’s okay.   
  



End file.
